“You’re something else, Caterina Rose.” I wrapped my hand around her waist and dropped a tiny kiss on her arm, cracking up as her face crinkled in disgust.
“I told you before about using my full firstandmiddle name. Eat.”
I moaned around a piece of shrimp. “Wow, this is delicious. Want a job in my kitchen if the whole advertising thing doesn’t work out?” I smiled around my fork.
“Well, I’ve already had sex with the boss—a lot—so I’m guessing I could skip the interview.” A wide grin lifted her cheeks before she slid into a chair next to me at the table.
“Not so fast. You have to interview like everyone else. That’s what the lock on my office door is for.” I winked.
She laughed around the rim of her wineglass. “My mother gets on my case for not making my own sauce whenever I make this. She showed me a couple of times, but the real deal is an all-day endeavor, as I’m sure you know. Plus, we only have so many pots here. So, thank you for enjoying my dinner even though I’m a disgrace to my heritage and used tomato sauce from a jar.”
“Are you close with your mother? You said it’s only the two of you, right?”
She nodded around a mouthful of bread. “My father died when I was little. My memories of him are a little fuzzy since I was only six. My mother went back to work full-time, and we moved in with my grandparents. Our apartment was always bustling with some kind of extended family. Sunday dinners and holidays were full of people and non-stop food, but it still always seemed like just my mother and me.” Caterina lifted a sad shoulder. “She was strict, but I never wanted for anything. I was a good kid, earned good grades, and never got into trouble. I felt as if I owed her that. But even she’s on my case for working too hard.” A humorless laugh fell from her lips.
“You’re an amazing woman who deserves to enjoy her life. It doesn’t sound like you’ve done much of that. Well, not before last Thursday.” She laughed and nodded slowly.
“No. No, I haven’t. I have a good job, money in the bank, a nice apartment—once I get rid of the squatter.” She pushed her food back and forth on her plate. “But I want more. I always did, but I guess I pushed it aside because I felt I shouldn’t. That it was silly. Now I’m thirty-three, and look at me.” She blew out a long breath and shook her head.
I put my fork down and leveled my eyes on her.
“I am. Trust me, I am.” I reached for her under the table and squeezed the inside of her thigh. “And what I see is beautiful.” My voice croaked at the end, all this weird emotion filtering through me. I’d thought I never cared about dating because it simply wasn’t for me. I didn’t have time for another hassle, and I’d always believed finding “the one” was a bullshit impossibility for me. I never thought I’d actually find her, but not be able to keep her.
She sank her teeth into her bottom lip and narrowed her glossy eyes at me. “Do they teach that to hospitality majors? How to sweet talk new customers?”
“No, that comes natural. All me, baby.”
Her smile faded when her eyes found mine. “Can you stay, Joe?” She draped her hand over mine, where it was still laying on her thigh. “I have dessert, and I found out this morning that the bathroom upstairs has a jacuzzi.” Her eyebrows shot up despite her watery gaze. “It would be a shame if no one used it, right?
“Big shame.” I squeezed her thigh but didn’t get the smile I’d hoped for.
I rose from my chair and kissed her cheek before I dragged my lips down her neck.
“You have me as much as you want me, for as long as you want me.”
20
Caterina
“I amhappy you’re finally on a vacation. I’ve been so worried about you.” My mother sighed into the phone. “You’re going to burn yourself out.”
“I’m okay, Mom. It’s nice here—nice being with the girls.”
“What else isnice?” She laughed. “Usually nice means borderline okay.”
I kept saying nice to avoid the real highlight of my vacation: the gorgeous restaurant owner who I was about to spend the night with for the third time in five days after I met him five days ago. Mom wanted me to have fun, but not that much fun.
Joe pushed me out of the kitchen and insisted on cleaning up, and I took the opportunity to check in with my mother. Some of my friends spoke to their parents once a week, but that would never fly with her, and I wouldn’t want it to. I checked up on her as much as she checked up on me.
“It’s good, Mom. I promise. How is it there?”
“I ran into Trent on the street this afternoon.” I could picture her mouth flattening into a hard line. One thing my mother did not have was a poker face. “He asked me when you were coming home. I thought you broke up?”
“We did. I told him to get out, but I had his name added to the lease, so he’s not moving. I’d hate to leave the apartment and give him what he wants, but I don’t know how to get him out.”
“Are you ever going to tell me what happened?”
If I told my mother exactly what happened, an uncle or cousin would be at my place in less than twenty-four hours to drag him out by his feet. As awesome as that would be, I needed to handle this myself.
